Detachment

Yukimura lay with his head turned to look out the open screens, into
his garden. Spring sunlight, softer and lighter than the heat of summer,
made the small leaves glow and skipped over the water of the pool as
the breeze ruffled its surface.

It was beautiful and serene, and normally Genichirou would have shared
an appreciative quiet, complimenting his friend silently on this space.
Today was not normal, though. They hadn’t had normal days since the
start of winter.

Yukimura turned his head back to look up at the ceiling. "I may not be
with you at Kawanakajima this time." The curve of his mouth could not
be called a smile.

An unaccustomed chill settled in Genichirou’s stomach. Yukimura
could be chilling at times, of course, but it was the brutal, living
cold of spring water—something that never froze and always
moved. This… this was the dead chill of ice. His own years of study
and meditation told him it was a good and suitable thing, that Yukimura
realized the passing nature of all life. But the hotter core of him
insisted it was wrong.

Attempting to balance his own thoughts, Genichirou found himself remembering
another afternoon in this garden, years ago. "You promised you would
lead us back there as many times as victory required," he said, and
his lips quirked wryly as he looked down at Yukimura. "It isn’t like
you to break a promise."

Yukimura blinked and his eyes refocused on Genichirou at last, wide with
surprise. They were silent for long moments, watching each other while
birds called in the garden.

Finally Yukimura smiled, and this time it was genuine. "Of course." The
breeze lifted the leaves of the maple beyond the screen, and sunlight
poured over them showing gray eyes gleaming and alive again. "I’m
sorry to have troubled you, Sanada."

Genichirou waved a hand, disclaiming any trouble, and they both relaxed,
looking out once more into the strong, serene lines of the garden.